That's All Folks
by Idontneedthegunjohn
Summary: Will Wile E Coyote finally get his dinner?


**That's All Folks**

By Bennets Chain Mail

Wile E Coyote opened his dreary eyes and stared off in to the distance as a slowly rising cloud of dust stretched away along the long, dusty, barren path. It seemed to taunt him for yet another failed attempt.

A rocket powered lawn mower. What was he thinking? He had little time to dwell on the thought as pain crept in to his body from all over as the adrenaline wore off. He extricated himself from the wreckage of ACME's latest turkey and surveyed the scene. Total obliteration of everything around him, which as they were in the middle of the desert, was not much. A few cacti were, apart from himself, his only victims. He stumbled over to one exterminated xerophyte and lapped at one of its many lopped limbs, greedily sucking out as much moisture as he could muster. When he had sated his thirst he wiped his snout dry and started on the long journey home, and the even longer preparation for his next attempt.

Step after stiff, painful step he racked all his cunning and instinct to try and figure out a way of getting that fucking road runner. For too long he had been made a fool of by that bird brained bastard. How long had it been? How many times had he met with abject failure and personal strife? He'd lost count a long time ago. He'd given up on catching the avian abhorration for food many moons ago. This wasn't survival, this was a matter of pride and revenge. Rooting through humans garbage for sustenance suited him fine if it left him more time to plot his vengeance and he no longet cared what the other coyotes thought of him. They could laugh and snicker behind his back all they wanted, he would be the one to get that beaked bitch.

It wasn't as if any of them had done any better. He patted himself down and located his pack of cigarettes, a nasty habit he picked up from his time in the ACME animal testing labs. Those were dark days but even they seemed preferable to the perpetual cycle of disappointment and frustration he now found himself in.

He stopped in his tracks for a moment while he flicked the bottom of the pack and snatched the solitary cancer stick that flipped forth between his chipped and broken teeth. He tossed the now empty pack away, reached for his Zippo and cracked the lid open. He clicked his fingers by the ignition wheel a few times before a consistent flame was forthcoming, then lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. For a moment all his troubles faded away as the nicotine flooded his body. He gazed out across the barren landscape, giant fingers of rocks pointing to the sky and seldom walked paths stretching to the horizon and beyond. He was still out there, racing around like he owned the place. Not for much longer, Wile swore to himself. He exhaled scathingly then continued on home to prepare.

Wile flicked though the catalogue. There weren't many things amongst the faded, torn pages he hadn't already tried. All unsuccessful endeavours, usually in the most spectacular fashion. Giant rocket? Failed. Shitload of TNT? Failed. Fake tunnels and horizons? Failed. ACME had taken him for a fool too many times. Maybe it was time for a fresh approach? He wasn't even paying attention as he progressed through the pages when a leaflet blew in to his cave and under his nose. He blinked a few times then focussed on this new piece of information.

Wile's eye opened and something resembling a smile graced his face for the first time in what seemed like an age. It was so simple, so precise, so effective. Why hadn't he just gone down this route in the first place?

'GUNS' said the bold headline. Glossy pictures of chrome death dispensers littered the pages. Wile didn't need to read any more, he knew what he wanted and now he knew how to get it. He allowed himself a chuckle before making haste to his destination with his wallet full and his mind racing.

Wile had spent the morning liberally distributing bird seed in several open areas where he would be able to get a good shot of anything foolhardy enough to believe in a free lunch. He waited now atop one of the crumbling stone columns that littered the landscape. A full 360 degree view for miles and miles with no clouds in the sky and no wind to speak of. Perfect conditions for conducting some casual ornicide. He was extremely happy with his purchase, he drew his face away from the scope to inspect his new best friend. He'd opted for the AWSM chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum calibre for superior range and stopping power. Not that he needed much power to kill a bird but he felt his adversary deserved a little recognition for all the trouble he had caused. He glanced down at his sidearm which glistened in the sunlight by his side. The FN Five-SeveN with a twenty round magazine had caught his eye over more powerful and faster firing sidearms due to it's high accuracy. When you're dealing with a lightening quick feathery fuck at close range, accuracy is your best friend.

He patted his sidearm then reached accross to his other method of dispatching any potential foes. No need to get technical here, he'd opted for the biggest, meanest looking fuck off knife in the shop. Probably too large and unweildy to be of much use in a proper hand to hand situation but after being so considerate and careful in his other choices, sometimes the heart has to rule the head. Plus the fact, his foe doesn't have any hands anyway...

Wile, satisfied with his arsenal, returned his attention to the scope and observed his surroundings, paying careful attention to where he had laid his bait, close to but not obstructed by local landmarks. So far only a few smaller, curious birds had ventured down for a quick bite only to fly off again. He was tempted to make a few test shots but as he hadn't invested in silencers for any of his weapons, he decided against it. Wile adjusted his sights and double checked everything one last time before settling in for the long haul. He was ready...

Roadrunner zoomed over the land taking in the sights, surfaces and sounds with lightening quick reflexes and thought. Where he was going not even he knew. He just enjoyed being the fastest and smartest around. Especially when that hare-brained coyote was about. The area was unusually quiet today and there was no sign of any mischeif, coyote related or otherwise. Roadrunner smiled to himself and went on his merry way.

'MEEP! MEEP!'

Wiley heard the sound and awoke from his trance. He swiveled his rifle to face where the faint echo had come from and in the distance, surely enough there was a rising plume of dust in the Road Runners wake. Wile grew anxious, excitement and anticipation knotted his stomach, which itself was more interested in seeing the bird come to harm than digesting it. His trigger finger went for position and he had to try hard to discipline himself and wait for the right moment. He watched as Roadrunner came closer and closer, the shot getting easier and easier, but still he waited. Waited for that one perfect moment when all the wrongs would be made right...

Roadrunner streaked across the land but was all of a sudden taken by the urge for a feed. He glanced around and saw a couple of piles of seeds. He raised an eyebrow and looked about more. Surely this was another pathetic attempt to try and lure him in to some over complicated, dramatic trap by that daft coyote? While suspicious, he was also very hungry so he tentatively approached a pile of seed. Nothing to be feared here he thought to himself, no wires, no tracks, no fake scenery or vats of industrial strength glue. He cautiously stopped and slowly pecked away waiting for any tell tale sign or noise that would cue another ridiculous attempt...

Wile took a deep breath and held it for a second, his prey was stationary, unsuspecting and in the open. Now was the time. With his sights trained on the birds body, safety off, he slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger gently. A crack of thunder filled the wastes and echoed for miles. Other animals in the area and beyond ran for cover, for their lives until the uneasy silence once again returned.

The kick of the rifle had lost Wiley his sight of the target. He quickly regained composure and searched the waste through the scope. There he was. Lying on the floor in a pool of blood and feathers. Wiley took his face away from the scope, rubbed his eyes and returned his gaze to the stricken bird.

He'd done it! The winged wretch was finally dead! Wiley cackled like a hyena and started jumping up and down with glee unable to contain his jubilation. Oh if only the other coyotes could see him now. What a shot! He removed the sight from the rifle and took another look down, just to make sure. Wait a second, there was movement. Was it an involuntary reaction or was the bird still alive? He was going to have to find out. Wiley decided to go down himself rather than just fire off another shot. Using the gear he'd used to climb the column, he rappelled down the rock toward his fallen foe.

It took a while to get there, but when Wile arrived he found his nemesis on the ground, bleeding profusely. The Roadrunners blood had mixed with the sand and mud to create a clumpy claret mess. Wileys feeling of elation and joy were suddenly replaced by sorrow and regret. The Roadrunner looked in to the coyotes eyes with a slight pained, glazed expression.  
The bullet had passed right through him but had not hit any major organs. Even so it had caused enough damage to incapacitate the bird and condemn him to a slow agonising death.

Wiley stood there, contemplating his victim. What had the Roadrunner ever really done to him? All the pain and suffering he'd been through was through his own actions exclusively. He'd been getting by on scavenging no problems. Did he really need to hunt other beings for sustenance?

Wiley's ears dropped and he began to well up. He'd spent so long being certain this was what he wanted, blinded by rage and self hate, and now it was here, his whole world had been shattered.

A soft gargling sound emanated from the Roadrunner. He was in pain. Wile knew what he had to do. He'd started it so now he was going to finish it. He removed his sidearm from its holster and clicked off the safety. Raising it to the birds head he froze for a moment, then mouthed the words 'sorry'.

He turned his head away from the Roadrunners accusing but thankful stare and let off several rounds in quick succession. The shots sounded alot softer here on the ground, almost compassionate. Wile didn't consider this for too long as he turned back to see if he had finished the job. He had, most definately. Even the vultures would think twice before attempting to feast on this riddled corpse.

A solitary tear rolled down his snout and he stood there basking in his sorrow as the setting sun turned his form in to a sad silhouette against the sky. Wile fell to his knees and reached for his overtly ornamental knife. Unsheathing it, he held it, both arms outstretched blade facing in. He gazed toward the sky for a moment before plunging the blade deep in to his body. A piercing pain unlike anything he'd experienced before. He slumped down further, but still very lucid. A twist on the blade clockwise, then anti-clockwise, then pushing slowly down so that his guts could free themselves from their fleshy jail. Gasping and still fully awake, wiley reached for his pistol and mustered the strength to place it in to his mouth. Tears running down his face and gore pooling beneath him, he squeezed the trigger.

This shot seemed more final than the rest and it rang out for miles, striking fear in to hearts of all who heard it.

The weeks passed and nature took its course until the only clue of the epic struggle that had occurred were a few bleached bones, indistinguishable from the many others that littered this unforgiving and unrelenting landscape.


End file.
